John woke up in a good mood. Which was probably because of the one and only Sherlock Holmes in his bed. A smile stretched across his face. It was quite rare to see Sherlock sleeping. He was probably exhausted after his fight with the suspect...
Sherlock's face was so relaxed and peaceful and... so innocent. His curls were a mess and John noticed that his hand was still tangled in Sherlock's curls. He flexed his hand, wincing when his hand cramped. He gently withdrew his hand and gently stretched it.
Yawning, he looked at the time and groaned when he saw that it was only 5am. He knew that he had no hope of going back to sleep, so he thought about what he should do. He could stay here and watch Sherlock sleep, or he could get up and go shopping. He could get some of Sherlock's favourite tea...
Nodding decisively, John slowly withdrew his legs and let go of Sherlock's hand. John froze when Sherlock frowned, reaching out. Thinking fast, John grabbed a pillow and gave it to Sherlock, who cuddled it. Chuckling lightly, John got out of his bed and threw on a random pair of pants, which were light gray, and a brown striped long sleeved shirt. Looking over at Sherlock one last time, John snuck out of his room.
Grabbing his cream coloured woollen jumper on the way out, John slipped his key, wallet and phone into his pocket, slipped on the jumper and locked the door behind him.
Whistling merrily, John unlocked the door and stepped inside, arms full of shopping. Surprisingly, he had no arguements with the self serve check out today. Seeing as it was 7am, and Sherlock was either up or about to wake up, John headed to the kitchen and turned on the kettle and put two pieces of toast into the toaster while he unpacked the rest of the shopping.
Opening the fridge, he immediately closed it, closing his eyes. "Oh, dear god. Please don't let that be what I think it is," John groaned, opening the fridge again.
Yup. "Oh, for god's sake, Sherlock! Thumbs, sure. Heads, sure. But tongues?" He cursed, feeling his stomach roll as the tongues floated in a green liquid.
Averting his eyes, he quickly shoved everyting into the respective spots and shut the fridge. The kettle whistled, and John's grinned returned.
He carefully poured the water in over the teabag, then added a teaspoon of honey, and a tiny amount of whipped cream. Two sugars, then stirred it. Three times clockwise, four times anticlockwise. Just how Sherlock liked it. Grinning happily, John heard Sherlock walked into the lounge room.
Pouring his own tea and putting jam on his toast, which was on his plate, John walked into the room and set down Sherlock's tea down in front of him. John picked up this morning's paper and opened it, taking a bite of toast. He watched Sherlock over his paper as the detective took a sip of his tea.
John hid his grin as an expression of wonder came over Sherlock's face. John took another bite of toast as Sherlock looked up at him and started reading the paper.
"John?" Sherlock's voice was low.
"Mmm?" John responded, pretending to be interested in an article about three murder's that had taken place within three hours.
Frowning, John carefully read the article. "Sorry, hang on Sherlock," he mumbled, eye brows going up the more he read.
This was ... insane. All victims had their hair shaved and several stab marks on their arms. Their legs were mutilated and the had been tied to arms chairs. Frowning, John looked up at the door as LeStrade burst in.
"What happened, another three?" John asked, frowning in seriousness.
LeStrade glanced at the paper and nodded grimly, "But this one is different."
Sherlock looked confused, still sipping his tea. "Worse?"
"Very much so, you better see for yourself."
Finishing his toast, John put the paper down. "We'll be right behind you," John told him, skulling his tea and looking around for his gloves.
Looking grateful, he bounded down the stairs. "John, what's going on?" Sherlock asked, sounding confused.
John looked over at Sherlock and chucked the paper at him. Setting down his tea, Sherlock frowned as he read the article. He stood, finishing his tea and put on his coat and scarf.
He handed John his gloves and put on his own ones. He walked over to John and gave him a kiss on the cheek as his hand rested briefly on John's hip. "Thanks for the tea, John."
John smiled up at him, "you can thank me properly later, right now we have a case," John told him, winking before grabbing Sherlock's hand and dragging him down the stairs.
Sherlock hailed a taxi and told the cabbie the address (how Sherlock knew, John had absolutely no idea).
When they arrived at the crime scene, the whole force was there, police tape and all. "Hello, freak," Donovan greeted, lifting the tape. John let go of Sherlock's hand and shoved his hands into his pockets, Donovan didn't need any more reasons to be cruel to Sherlock.
Sherlock frowned at him and ducked under the tape, John following. The entered the shabby building and a bad feeling spread through John. He put on the required suit and followed LeStrade to where the body was.
Bile rose in his throat. "Oh, god. That's a CHILD!" He cried, covering his mouth with his hand.
Taking a deep breath, John saw the sympathetic look on LeStrade's face. Sherlock crouched next to the body and John waited next to LeStrade.
When Sherlock gestured for John to come over and inspect the body, John grimaced.
Hearing about what had happened in the paper had been bearable. But seeing them up close, John couldn't do it. Shaking his head and standing, John bolted outside, leaning against the building as he threw up. John threw off the stupid suit and wiped a hand against his mouth.
The images rolled around through his head, and he kept throwing up until he had nothing left in his stomach. Groaning, John walked to the back of the building, out of sight, and slid down to the ground.
Closing his eyes and leaning his head on the building, John's eyes snapped open as a low growl reached his ears. Bolting upright, John reached for his gun and cursed when he found he didn't have it with him.
A huge brown, feral dog was standing about a meter away. Foam was visible and its hackles were raised. Cursing, John didn't have time to react as the dog lunged at him, its teeth closing on his arm. John was flung backwards into the building as the dog tore at his arm. 'This day just gets worse and worse,' thought John tiredly as he clamped his hand on the dogs muzzle and lifted its mouth away from his arm.
Sending the dog away with his military strength, John kicked at the dog, standing, wincing as blood ran down his arm. Yelping, the dog ran away, tail between its legs.
Breathing heavily, John cradled his arm and rolled back his sleeve. "Ah!" he groaned.
Raggard teeth marks tore arcoss his arm, deep and blood was running down his arm. Something clicked in his brain. The wounds seemed familiar...
!!! Of course! The girl's body inside!
John rolled his sleeve back down, and ran back around the building. He sprinted inside and slid to a stop next to the child's body. Tugging a pair of plastic gloves on, he lifted the child's arm, rolling back the sleeve and ignoring Sherlock's questioning excalmation. Grinning in success, John looked up. "It was a dog. Someone tied this child to the chair, locked the door and set a feral dog loose. Look at these marks on her arm, they are long lines, but they are from teeth. See?" John explained, feeling smug when he saw Sherlock's dumbstruck expression.
"John, how did you-?" Sherlock frowned, but cut himself off and shook his head.
John glanced at Greg and chuckled at the DI's stupid expression. John's arm twinged and he knew that he had to fix it up before it got infected. He stood, brushing off his pants. "If you don't mind, I'm going to go home and have a nice cup of tea, I'll see you later, Greg." John said happily.
He walked out and felt slight panic when he noticed Sherlock following behind him. "John," Sherlock said quietly, "are you alright?"
John sent a silent prayer of thanks that Sherlock hadn't noticed his arm. "Yeah, of course I'm alright. Just need a nice cup of tea. You can stay here longer if you want, I've got a few things I need to do..." John said, smiling up at Sherlock.
Sherlock searched his eyes before nodding. As Sherlock turned to go, John called after him, "Don't go around the back!"
John hailed a taxi and got in telling the cabbie the address. Mycroft was sure to visit and John didn't want Sherlock around for that, God knows how he messes up the wall after that.
John thanked the cabbie, paid then ran up the stairs, straight to the bathroom and passing Mycroft sitting on the couch. "Ah, Mycroft, I'll just be a moment," John called without pausing.
Once in the bathroom, John got out the first aid kit and swore as he disinfected the cut, which was still bleeding. He bandaged the wound and rolled his sleeve back down to cover it.
Then he went back down stairs and sat in his chair. "Now, John, I do believe we need to have a talk about you and my brother," Mycroft stated, lifting one eyes brow.